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“I should wash and change before eating,” Konrad muttered, hauling himself out of his chair. Aimee came politely to her feet. He frowned at her. “You don’t need to do that now.” She sat back down again, and he left the room.

By the time Konrad returned, Aimee was sat at one end of the dining table which was covered in dishes. He heard footsteps in the corridor outside. Sure enough, his sister came around the corner in a sober gown of dark red that he was sure she used to wear back in her court days. Freda followed on close behind her.

“Well, is not this nice,” Freda said fluttering her hands about to incorporate the whole room. “A vastly handsome chamber.”

Magnatrude slid into the chair to his left, and Freda hesitated a moment before sitting next to her.

He glanced pointedly at his sister.

“Good eve, brother,” she said colorlessly, and he guessed she must still be sulking about her prolonged sojourn to the southern capital.

“Well,” he said. “And what have you been about all day? Moping about the place or making yourself useful?”

The heavy silence that greeted his words told him all he needed to know. Freda had the grace to turn very red, but his sister was rigid with anger.

“As you know, brother,” she said in a furious undertone. “I am only here under protest!”

“What protest? I sent for you to celebrate my nuptials as any good brother would. You came soon enough.” He was tactful enough not to mention the purse he had sent to facilitate her journey.

“I did not think you would actually detain me at this accursed place!” she hissed.

Konrad rolled his eyes. “Stop being so dramatic, Trude, for the love of the gods,” he said. “You’re no girl.”

“Then don’t use that childish version of my name, then,” she snapped. “For neither are you in your infancy, brother.”

He glanced down the length of the table at Aimee, but she was selecting a bread roll with careful deliberation. It crossed his mind to summon her to the vacant seat at his right, but he might as well have something good to look at if he was forced to suffer his sister’s carping.

“H-how was your day, cousin?” Freda asked in failing accents. “Were you practicing your sword skills?”

He opened his mouth to give her a stinging set-down only to notice Aimee look up with interest. “Quintain,” he corrected her briefly.

“Practicing your quintain?” Freda quavered doubtfully. “You will have to forgive my ignorance, cousin. Is that the name of some other weapon in your arsenal?”

Feeling Aimee’s eyes still on him, he cleared his throat. “’Tis a device for training with the lance,” he corrected her grudgingly.

“I see,” Freda nodded, looking gratified. Sensing another equally foolish question hovering on her lips, he turned instead to his wife.

“The royal tournament is in three days,” he said abruptly. “Will you attend?”

Aimee’s face brightened. “I would love to.” Her dimple flashed out, distracting him.

“Will any prominent northern houses be in attendance?” Magnatrude asked, looking up quickly.

“Aye, very likely,” he answered, without taking his eyes off Aimee.

“Then I, too, should like to attend,” his sister said in a confrontational tone.

His glance flickered toward her momentarily. “I’m not stopping you.”

“How do we go about securing seats?” Aimee asked, before Trude could harangue him further. “When Ursula and I attended Kellingford, our hosts, the Wycliffe’s, arranged it.”

“Kellingford?” Konrad repeated. “You attended when?”

“Last October,” she replied, looking strangely self-conscious about the fact.

Konrad cast his mind back and remembered his uncharacteristic loss to Renlow last year and frowned. Typical that would have been the tournament she attended. He was still glowering about this as the first course was served which was a tasty broth served with strips of preserved meats and flatbreads.

Freda cleared her throat. “These seeds,” she said, turning over her flatbread. “Are most curious. Flavorsome too,” she added hurriedly.